


For Services Rendered

by dracogotgame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drarropoly: Founders Edition - A Drarry Game/Fest, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Violence, Morally Ambiguous Character, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Oneshot, Semi Healthy Relationships, Smut, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, canon? never heard of her, idk what it is but fluff it is not, this is not fluff, vampire!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28026870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracogotgame/pseuds/dracogotgame
Summary: Draco has always given Father's 'business associates' a wide berth. But his fascination with the vampire may lead him down a dark and twisted path.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 49
Kudos: 301
Collections: Drarropoly '20: Founders Edition





	For Services Rendered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Drarropoly Founder's Edition Fest - Prompt 2
> 
> Prompts were as follows:  
> Harry and Draco are in a secret relationship  
> OWL Level: A Malfoy or Weasley parent knows the secret  
> NEWT Level: Include an epilogue for your story
> 
> NEWT level achieved.
> 
> Beta-ed by the amazing and supportive Rei382 on discord. Thank you again, Rei - this would still be an unreadable mess without your kind and priceless help!

His bare toes curled into the plush carpet. Draco wrapped his arms around his middle as he huddled by the door. As a child, he was never allowed in this part of the house. He still had vague recollections of house-elves sternly shooing him away whenever he ventured near.

He’s eighteen now — fresh out of Hogwarts and on his way to a vaunted career at the Ministry like every Malfoy before him. And yet, _this_ door is still firmly closed to him. He crept closer, vying for a peek through the keyhole. The voices inside were barely audible but he strained to listen. 

He needed to hear what was going on in there.

“Wine?” Father’s tone was treading a fine line between openly contemptuous and barely civil. “I’m afraid we’re fresh out of your...poison of choice.”

There’s an answering chuckle, one Draco instantly recognised. His pulse quickened in Pavlovian response. 

_It’s him._

“I imagine a cellar full of O Negative would invite questions,” their guest quips wryly. “Even for you.”

He can see Father’s expression in his mind’s eye — from the displeased twist of his mouth to the glint of discomfort in his eyes at the reminder of who, or rather _what_ he was dealing with. Draco’s heartbeat ticked up as he reached for the doorknob. There would be hell to pay if he was caught lurking but he _had_ to see him.

 _It’s been so long._

The door opened a crack, allowing him a glimpse inside. Father looked stiff and wary as he handed a wineglass to their guest. The man — _creature_ — sprawled on the chaise accepted the offering, but there was no mistaking the glint of humour in his green eyes when Father quickly retreated.

“You humans.” He clicked his tongue. “So paranoid.” Father’s expression morphed to open indignance, much to the vampire’s delight. “Relax, Malfoy. How many times have you invited me into your home? If I meant you harm, I _promise_ you would know.” There was a ripple of movement — barely perceptible to the naked eye — as he shifted his stance. Father tensed and even Draco couldn’t help the hitch in his breath. 

Then the creature smiled and raised his glass. “But that would ruin a perfectly good business relationship, wouldn’t it? _Salut_.” In a breach of etiquette as horrendous as it is deliberate, he drained the glass in one go. “Now,” he grinned, displaying the barest hint of fang, “who do you need me to kill?”

A chill went down Draco’s spine. His arms wrapped tighter around his body and he fought down a shudder. 

It’s not a shock. He’s always known the truth, even if it remains unspoken. He was seven when he first came upon one of Father’s ‘business associates’. He was racing through the Manor, playing a game of hide-and-seek with the portraits, when a huge, brutish man with pointed yellow teeth blocked his path. The man, whom he would later come to know as the notorious werewolf Fenrir Greyback, grinned at him and purred, “Aren’t you a cute little morsel?”

He had nightmares for a week straight. 

At least he learned to pay closer attention to his surroundings after that incident. Now that he was looking, there was no mistaking the unsavoury lot slithering in and out of that study. It wasn’t just the werewolves with their leers and gristly smiles. It was the goblins with their beady eyes and doublespeak, armed with reams of classified parchment and departing with clinking purses. It was the denizens of Knockturn Alley — the Borgins and Burkes, the Cobbs and Fletchers — obsequious, fawning, bearing gifts for _‘a true collector, Lord Malfoy’._ Gifts that would assuredly result in an awkward conversation with the Aurors, should they ever have reason to visit Malfoy Manor. Of course, Father was careful to _never_ provide such a reason. But business was business and any worthy Slytherin knew that opportunities came hand-in-hand with risk.

The meetings continued, their disreputable guests kept trickling in and Draco learned to ignore them. And if the undesirable visitations just happened to coincide with the odd windfall in the Malfoy vault, one of Father’s political rivals succumbing to a tragic accident or the dissolution of a very specific legal blockade holding back a business venture... that was easily ignored as well. It was business and frankly, Draco wanted _nothing_ to do with it.

That was before Harry Potter showed up.

“Must you be so crude, Potter?” Father sneered. “Surely we can discuss these things in a more genteel manner.”

“So you _don’t_ want me to make a meal out of whatever poor bastard got in your way?” the vampire asked with exaggerated innocence. He grinned sharply, clearly enjoying every bit of Father’s disgust. “You’ll have to excuse my uncouth deportment, _Lord_ Malfoy. I lost my talent for obfuscation in the eighteenth century. It was a forthright time, I quite miss it.”

Draco swallowed against the dryness in his throat, despite the thrill curling in his chest. Sometimes, he forgot that there _was_ such a thing as true immortality. The man — the _boy_ — seated across Father was a jarring reminder that it existed, for the right price. A terrible price. He observed the vampire, trying to take a measure of the young man he once was. A human Harry Potter, Draco thinks, would have been softer. His smile would have been large and bright like the sun; not this razor’s edge of a blade. He would have skipped stones across ponds and sprinted in green fields instead of prowling dark alleys and ancient manors. He would have married some fresh-faced farmgirl, fathered a brood of messy-haired children and died in his bed an old, happy man. 

And Draco would never have met him. 

His insides twist and he wonders despairingly just when he fell so deep. It may have been when he was barely thirteen and happened upon the vampire for the first time. Or it might be right now, at this very moment. More likely, he thinks it’s been every moment in between, before and after.

What he does know is that it’s too late to question it now. Even if a small, sensible part of him still feared for his life every time the creature glanced at him. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Father replied dryly. “Now. The matter at hand, if you please?” 

Draco has never been one to question his Father but right now he has to wonder. Does Lucius truly think he has any control here? That Potter can’t — or won’t — tear him to shreds the moment it sparks his fancy? This isn’t a werewolf or some street thug bought off with a handful of Galleons. Vampires...they played games. Deadly ones. And they didn’t lose too often.

“It’s that wench MacDougal.” Father spat the name out like an insult. “She’s hawking her pro-Mudblood agenda in the Wizengamot again. She might be making some headway this time.”

“And you — a notorious bigot — can’t let that stand,” Potter finished. 

Draco barely suppressed a flinch. To hear his Father being addressed in a manner so flagrantly disrespectful... he should be outraged. Instead, the thrill of anticipation flared deep inside him. He had to dig his nails into his forearm to ground himself. 

_What’s happened to me?_

“Are you objecting on moral grounds?” Father demanded with a sneer. “A bit rich for _your_ kind, wouldn’t you say?”

“Your petty politics mean nothing to me,” the vampire drawled, studying the dregs of wine with a bored expression. “Regardless, consider it done. Same terms as always.”

Silence descends, tense and heavy.

“Yes. About that.” Father spoke up, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. “I won’t deny that you have proven a valuable ally, Potter. However...”

“You want to know what I’ll demand as payment,” Potter finished. His smile flickered as he turned a lazy eye in Father’s direction. “It’s been, what? Eight years of ‘favours’? It’s a bit late to renegotiate, Malfoy. You’ve been perfectly happy extorting my services for free so far.”

Father stiffened, caught somewhere between insult and caution. “I’ve been told vampires are patient creatures. When I’m the Minister for Magic, rest assured, you will be handsomely rewarded.”

“And I told you, I don’t care. I’ll take what I want when I’m good and ready. Until that day comes, relax. You’ve come this far without worrying about consequences, haven’t you?”

The tense atmosphere shifts minutely. Father nods tersely.

“Very well. Now, about MacDougal. I want you to exercise extreme discretion. She’s...”

“A moment.” The vampire raises a languid hand. “I’m guessing you’d rather continue this conversation in private.” 

_What?_

“What?!”

Potter grinned. Poison green eyes turned to the door, staring straight at him. Draco’s heart leapt to his throat. 

“Hello, little Malfoy. My, how you’ve _grown_.”

There was a blur of motion. In the second it took Draco to blink, the door swung open. Potter smirked and leaned against the frame. Behind him, Father sputtered, going positively ashen.

_Wonderful._

“Father,” Draco greeted stiffly. “Potter.” He raised his chin defiantly, despite the violent blush painting his cheeks. 

“Draco,” Father whispered. His eyes darted between Draco and Potter, widening as they fixed on the negligible distance between them. Lucius swallowed and his fingers twitched for his wand. But he stayed where he was — a good forty paces from the apex predator currently sizing up his heir.

 _“Draco,”_ Potter echoed lazily. The sharp grin belies his delight. His eyes sparkle with unmistakable _glee_ as they rake the length of Draco’s stiff frame. His tongue darted out to trace the length of a razor-sharp fang and Draco tried, _desperately_ , to keep his focus anywhere but on that smirking, taunting mouth. “Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to eavesdrop, lordling?” He was close enough that Draco would have felt the heat coming off him, had there been any. “Dangerous too. We wouldn’t want you compromised.”

The shiver that trails Draco’s spine is _mostly_ fear. 

“Have care how you speak to me, creature,” he sneered. His heart was rabbiting and he knew that Potter could see right through his flimsy pretension. But Father was watching him and he still had a part to play.

“Draco.” 

Lucius finally steps forward. He still doesn’t dare put himself anywhere near Potter, and while Draco can’t exactly _blame_ him, it does diminish the man in his eyes. There’s a nervous quality to Father’s haughty tone. It’s embarrassing, Draco thinks. Certainly not how a man in charge behaves around his supposed underlings. 

“I didn’t summon you,” Father said, eyes straying towards Potter with visible unease.

“No, sir,” Draco replied, his expression a mask of blank politeness. “Forgive my intrusion.” 

“Oh, you are _forgiven_ , little Malfoy,” Potter broke in. “By all means, intrude anytime. And remember,” his teeth were stark against the pallor of his skin. Draco wondered what they’d look like clamped around a pulsing throat, “should you need anything during your _illustrious_ career at the Ministry, I’m at your disposal.”

He tried for a sneer but it was a weak effort. His pulse was _hammering_ in his throat and his ears and he could sense the vampire’s interest. He could see it in the twitch of his smile, the way those jade eyes trailed downwards...

 _“Draco.”_ Father’s voice was a strangled hiss. “Go upstairs. _Now._ ”

It’s enough to pull him from the haze. For now. Draco dampened his lips but stepped back with an obedient nod. “Yes, sir. As you wish.” His eyes were fixed on Potter though and try as he might, he couldn’t walk away.

“Until next time, little Malfoy,” Potter murmured. The door shut and a lock clicked in place.

He’s left standing in the hallway. Again.

Draco made his way back to his room on shaky legs. 

And if he simply... forgot the Locking Charm he put up every night before going to bed? Well, no one could fault him for being a little scatter-brained.

* * *

He’s dying.

His pulse thrums in his ears, somehow both thready and urgently _loud_. A bead of blood trails from the wound in his neck to the ruined mess of his sheets and he whines — in protest, in need; he doesn’t _know_ anymore. His heavy limbs tangle with another’s as a new wave of pleasure-pain washes over him. He jerks helplessly in an iron embrace — even as cold, possessive arms wrap around him and a dark laugh brushes his ear.

“Steady, beautiful,” Harry murmurs, closing the open gash with a swipe of his tongue. “We may have gone a bit too far this time.”

He’s definitely dying. But oh, he’s _fine_ with it. So long as he can just lie here in bliss and drift off...

“You’re not dying,” Harry retorts, rolling his eyes. “I would _never_ let that happen.” 

It’s only then that Draco realises he’s been talking out loud this whole time. He attempts a scathing glare but well, that’s the downside to having a vampire lover. 

There’s very little that scares Harry. 

“Precious,” the vampire croons teasingly.

Draco rakes sharp nails down his back, only to gasp when Harry thrusts his hips in retaliation. Another wave of _yes please so good more_ racks his exhausted body and his legs twitch in surrender, still wrapped around the vampire’s waist. Harry’s smile softens and he busses a kiss to Draco’s head before uncoupling them gently.

Draco frowns around a tired yawn. “You didn’t...”

“Later.” Harry slips off the bed and reaches for his discarded clothing. “You can barely keep your eyes open.” 

His jaw drops in indignation. He struggles to sit up and argue but Harry pushes him back down. “It’s not an insult, sweetling. I just don’t want to hurt you, that’s all.” 

Right. Because he’s a vampire and Draco is a fragile human. If Harry ever did lose control — be it hunger or lust — it will be his end. As long as they’re together, Harry will always have to curb his instincts. To be _delicate_ with Draco, or risk killing him. 

It’s a jarring reminder of the distance between them. He curls up in his sheets, ignoring the ache in his chest as Harry pulls on a shirt. The black garment slips over his pale, lean body. 

_He’s bored of me. He’s_ leaving _me._

Logically, he knows that’s ridiculous. They’ve been doing this for four months now. Harry always comes back. That encounter in Father’s study sparked something — something that had been primed for Salazar knows how long — and their time together since has been brilliant. The thrill of the forbidden just makes it better. 

If Father ever found out... well, he doesn’t know _what_ would happen but it would likely end with him locked up in some estate on the continent so far away that even Harry couldn’t reach him. His insides clench at the thought. As fun as sneaking around is, the truth is that Harry has come to mean more to him than a fling. That Father might try to separate them… it’s just one of the things that keeps him up at night.

Of course, if they were lucky enough to evade Lucius, it would be something else. Harry would fall prey to his instincts. If nothing else, it would be old age and death. One of them, Draco was bitterly reminded, was very much _not_ immune to that eventuality.

It feels so hopeless. No matter what, in the end, he’ll lose the man he...

“Draco.” He blinks as he’s hauled up against a solid chest. Draco swallows against the tightness of his throat. His fingers trail down the cool, muscled planes of Harry’s chest. Trying to memorise him. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Harry murmurs. “No good comes from dwelling on what can’t be changed.”

“You changed,” Draco mumbles. It sounds petulant, but he doesn't care. Harry’s had worse from him. “If you wanted, you could... change me.”

Silence. Harry goes still and Draco braces himself — for what, he doesn’t know. When Harry speaks, his voice is a low growl. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” Strong hands haul him up until he’s staring into hard, green eyes. “Did you think I chose this, Draco? That I would condemn...” Harry’s lips pull into a tight line. “I didn’t ‘change’. I was Turned against my will.”

It’s the first time he’s spoken of… before. Suddenly, Draco has no idea what to expect.

“He was born Tom Riddle, but I knew him as Voldemort. I was nineteen when he struck my village. My parents... he killed them in front of me.” Harry’s mouth twists in a pained grimace. “All these years...three hundred years and I still don’t know _why_. Why he picked us. Then, before I had even begun to mourn them... it was done. He remade me. Turned me into _this_.” 

It’s haunting and painful and it makes him want to shrink into himself. He’d known — at least on some level — that Harry’s life couldn’t have been painless but this _..._

“I hunted with him, you know,” Harry goes on tonelessly. “After it happened, I felt nothing for... a long time. So I joined him. I let him teach me. Everything I am, I learned from the thing that killed me.” His eyes harden as he turns to Draco. “So please, don’t ask me to be your Tom Riddle. Because _that_ I won’t do.”

“You’re _not_ him.” His hands fly to cradle Harry’s face, desperate to convince him. Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe after hearing what Harry has been through, he should be understanding. But he just _can’t_ live with this — knowing that Harry thinks he’s like the monster who... no. Draco has always been selfish. Selfish, greedy and spoiled. He’s _not_ giving Harry up — not without a fight. “You’re not him.” He pushes forward, presses his lips against Harry’s. “If you were, I’d be dead.” Harry hesitates. His hands flex against Draco’s hips, as if debating whether to push him away. Draco wraps his legs tight around him, ignoring his exasperated growl. He’s just realised something… and he needs to know.

“I was your payment, wasn’t I?”

Harry’s silence is answer enough.

“You told Father you’d take what you wanted when you were ready.” His arms loop Harry’s neck, trying to channel warmth and comfort. “Were you going to take me?”

When Harry speaks, he sounds resigned.

“It’s what Tom would have done,” he admits quietly. “I couldn't do it. Not to you.”

Draco nods. He understands. “Because you’re not him, Harry. You never were.” He cups Harry’s face in his hands, presses another kiss to his lips and tries not to let his heart soar too high when Harry responds. “I want you to know that I choose this. I want an eternity with _you_. Nothing more, nothing less. You don’t have to be alone anymore. Please. We can _have_ this.”

Harry falls silent again. But then he leans forward and presses a kiss to Draco’s head. “Think it over,” he says quietly. “Sleep on it. If you still want this tomorrow, I will honour your choice.”

It’s better than _no._ Suddenly, he’s exhausted. Draco yawns. His eyes flutter shut as Harry sets him back on the bed. 

“Goodnight, little Malfoy.” Gentle fingers tangle in his hair. “Sleep well.”

“Mm, Harry?” He’s sliding in and out of sleep already but there’s still something he needs to know. “What happened to him? Tom Riddle?”

There’s silence and he wonders if Harry left already. But then a soft voice brushes his ear.

“I killed him.”

Draco hums and curls into his covers. “Good.”

There’s a faint rustle and the click of the door. He falls into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

He knows before he’s crossed the threshold that he’s never coming back. 

It makes his dead heart ache in ways he was sure he’d forgotten but it’s for the best. Draco deserves a life of his own. A true one. He’s too young and sheltered to understand what he’s asking for. 

_He’ll forget eventually. It’s for the best._

“Stay where you are, _creature.”_

Harry frowns as Lucius steps out from the shadows — pale, wand raised and trembling. 

_Ah._

“You,” he hisses, shaking with rage. “You _dare...”_

“Put the twig down, Malfoy,” Harry sighs. “I assure you it's not necess...”

“You will _not_ corrupt my heir,” Lucius rages, wide-eyed and terrified despite his best efforts. Gone was the smug aristocrat. Stripped down to his core, this was him at his truest. A panic-stricken mess. Harry’s mouth twists.

_No wonder Draco doesn’t respect him._

“My son will _never_ be your whore! I’ll kill the boy before I let him defile my House like...” 

Harry has him pinned against the wall by his throat in a second. His fangs are bared, eyes bleeding into black, a growl thrumming in his throat. Lucius chokes and struggles as his wand falls. Harry kicks it out of reach.

“I knew a man like you once,” he murmurs. His grip tightens around Lucius’s throat and he hoists him up a few inches, dangling him on his toes. “A man who craved power more than anything. Even life.” Harry cocks his head and smiles. “He sounded just like you when he died.”

Lucius goes limp in his grasp. 

_Pathetic. The son would have fought back._

Draco deserves better. His life will never truly be his with _this_ lurking in the shadows. Harry wavers. But in the end, the choice is already made. Lucius Malfoy, of all people, made it. 

“I know how much you like deals, Lucius. One last bargain, for old times' sake.” He flexes his grip; a suggestion of a threat. “I take him and you keep your golden life with all the trappings. Everything you’ve worked so hard to build. The money. The power. _Or_ — ” His grip tightens a fraction. “— I’ll leave him be and you give up all this for your boy. I gave you your empire. I can take it away. Just say the word.”

Silence. As expected. To Lucius’s credit, he looks pained. Maybe, in his own way, he does care. It’s not enough, though. Harry’s been around a long time. He knows a mercenary when he sees one.

“You can always have another heir,” he cajoles. “Rebuild the family if Draco were to disappear. But ask yourself, Lucius, will you ever be Minister for Magic on your own?”

He drops the man. Lucius crumples and braces against the wall, one hand on his throat. His eyes fill with _hatred_ as he regards Harry. But he doesn’t lunge for his wand.

“Get out,” he sneers. “Both of you. Tell the boy he’s no son of mine.”

As expected.

Harry nods sharply and heads back to the bedroom, leaving Lucius behind without a glance. He has a feeling Draco will afford the man the same amount of courtesy. It’s more than he deserves.

And it doesn’t matter. All of a sudden, Harry has a whole other list of priorities and he’s eager to get to them.

They have a long trip before them. He wants to get ahead of the sun.

* * *

**FIVE YEARS LATER**

It was a cold night. The moon hung bright in the sky. A pleasing breeze rippled through. Harry breathed in the calm and smiled.

A good night for hunting.

Amusingly enough, it seemed he was the prey this time.

“I can hear you,” he drawled, biting back a laugh at the muffled curse he received. 

Vampirism has only heightened Draco’s flair for the dramatic.

Still, he played nice and didn't resist when the fledgling hurtled out of hiding and pinned him to a wall. Draco is so lovely like this — pale and sharp, every bit the beauty he’d been at nineteen when Harry finally Turned him. And yet, he was so much _more_. 

“I thought I had you this time,” he griped, pretty and pouting. It was all Harry could do not to turn the tables and pin him down.

But he was still Draco’s teacher in this new life. It’s his job to offer support. 

“You’re still learning. Be patient, it will come.” 

“When?” Draco demanded sullenly. 

“Eventually. Soon.”

It’s definitely not the answer Draco wants. Patience has never been one of his virtues, not then and _definitely_ not now. Harry lunged forward to distract him with a kiss before this turned into a full-blown sulk. “How about we go hunting?” he asked, pulling the younger vampire close and mouthing along his throat. It was an old trick but it still made Draco melt. Harry grinned as his Mate hummed happily and tipped his head back. “You can practice your stalking technique.”

“Not hungry,” Draco mumbled, arching his back and pressing into him like a demanding cat. He gazed at Harry with lidded grey eyes and his lazy smile turned suggestive. “Not for drunk ravers anyway.”

“Oh? Then what would your pleasure be, little Malfoy?”

Like he had to ask with Draco clambering into his lap and angling for his lips. Harry hummed in satisfaction, enjoying the simple indulgence of holding his lover. It was the closest to heaven the damned could ever get.

To think that he’d gone centuries without this. It’s almost enough to make him mourn.

The good news is there's all of eternity to make up for lost time. 

And as Draco pushed him into the nearest bed and whispered filthy promises in his ear, Harry decided forever might just be long enough. 


End file.
